


like a crowd in a small space

by likewinning



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6540127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likewinning/pseuds/likewinning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jason," Bruce says carefully. "This is not what office hours are for."</p>
            </blockquote>





	like a crowd in a small space

_bruce_ , Shayera texts him around 3PM, when Bruce is in the middle of a really nice nap in the staff lounge. No one's around, because he locked the door and only the janitor has keys. _dont forget you have office hours this afternoon_

"Shit," Bruce says, to no one. He thinks about throwing his phone at the wall, not in the least because Shayera never punctuates or capitalizes her texts, but then he'd have to get a new phone and the _last_ time that happened, he lost half his life expectancy to an AT &T store.

As if she can hear him, Shayera texts him a smiley face. Bruce needs to figure out how to disable those things.

He rolls off the couch still smelling like scotch and the coffee he spilled on his tie this morning, finds his sunglasses under the couch, and stumbles out of the lounge. Some asshole colleague waiting outside the door raises his eyebrows at him, but Bruce is on tenure so he flips him off.

Bruce hates office hours. It's always some dumbass asking Bruce to change their grade, or some dope who doesn't understand cummings, or -

"You," Bruce says when he sees who's waiting for him. "What do you want?"

Jason grins at him and shows him his copy of _Madame Bovary_. "Your time and attention, boss. What else?"

Bruce scowls. He's told the kids they can call him Bruce, or Professor Wayne if they must, but Jason's insisted on _boss_ since Bruce called him out in class for typing a goddamn book instead of listening to Bruce's lecture on Emerson.

"I could've been sleeping," Bruce says as he lets Jason into the office. "I _know_ you understand the material."

Jason plops down in the chair across from Bruce, leans back with his legs spread wide. He's wearing ripped up jeans and Converse sneakers, and a Pixies t-shirt that's seen much better days. "Sure I do," Jason says. "Bored housewife has an affair, gets caught, dies. Oh, and then there's Flaubert taking realism to a pretty scary level."

"Yes," Bruce says. He yawns, rests his head on his hands. Jason watches him. Really, Bruce knows that Jason's _always_ watching him. It's - unnerving isn't the word.

Bruce stopped looking at his students as anything but overgrown bratty children a long time ago. Most of them are rude, or stupid, or a startling combination of both. The few that _aren't_ that, Bruce is careful to stay away from. Just because he comes in hungover four days out of five and pulls reading lists out of his ass doesn't mean he's an _idiot_.

But -

Jason licks his lips, and Bruce catches the flash of his tongue ring before he says, "You know if you need, I know a guy who can get you some uppers."

Bruce snorts. "That's very thoughtful of you, Jason. Now if you're through wasting my time -"

"I want you to read my book," Jason says quickly.

"What?" Bruce asks.

"When it's done," Jason says. He leans forward in the chair, and his eyes are very, very blue. A hundred lines of poetry go through Bruce's head before he focuses. "I've read all of your papers on great literature, and I've listened to every word you've said in class -"

"Despite much evidence to the contrary," Bruce says.

"Yeah, well," Jason smirks. "I'm better than I look."

Bruce is _not_ touching that one.

"I trust you," Jason says. "I've wanted this my whole life, and if it's shit, I'd rather hear if from you than some bozo in a publishing house."

When Bruce doesn't say anything for a minute, Jason stands up and walks around the desk, stands above him. They've never been this close to each other, and every part of Bruce's body wants to reach out, to touch, to taste. It would only be the one time. It -

"Christ," Jason says. "You got any idea how hot you are, man?"

"Jason," Bruce says carefully. "This is not what office hours are for."

"You know I'm not just saying it because of the book thing, right?" Jason asks. He runs his fingers through Bruce's hair and Bruce feels himself shiver. "I've been wanting you to throw me over a desk since the first day you quoted Rimbaud in French."

"It's the only way to read his poetry," Bruce mutters. "The translations are useless."

"Uh-huh," Jason says. He sits down on the desk in front of Bruce, and Bruce slips his finger through the hole in his jeans. Jason spreads his legs, tightens his hand in Bruce's hair.

"We shouldn't," Bruce says.

"Yeah," Jason says. "Probably shouldn't keep a flask in your back pocket, either, boss. _Touch_ me."

"You're very demanding," Bruce says, but he pops open the button on Jason's jeans, tugs the zipper down and takes his dick out.

"Yeah," Jason breathes out. "Like that. Are you - oh _shit_ ," Jason says, because Bruce takes him in his mouth, just like he's wanted to do since that day Jason got into a passionate argument with someone about Steinbeck. He swallows Jason's dick, and Jason throws his head back, bucks into Bruce's mouth until Bruce holds him down with his hand.

"God," Jason says. "Fuckin' knew you'd be good at this. Knew you _wanted_ me."

Bruce pulls off with a slurp. "Don't be conceited," he says, and Jason laughs.

"Why?" he asks. "You knew I wanted _you_."

"Yes," Bruce says, tonguing Jason's balls. "But I'm a professional."

"Sure," Jason says, dragging the word out three extra syllables when Bruce sucks him down again. "That hot mess thing is just an act." Bruce gives him his teeth, and Jason hisses and then laughs. "Fucker," he says.

Bruce hums and takes him harder, lets go of Jason and lets him fuck up into his mouth. "Bruce," Jason whines, "Bruce, yes, _fuck_ ," and spills into Bruce's mouth. Bruce pulls back then, licks the taste of Jason from the corners of his mouth.

"Jesus," Jason says, pushing Bruce back into the chair and dropping down to his knees. "You've gotta let me touch you."

"For an English major," Bruce teases, pulling his dick out for Jason, "you have terrible grammar."

"Mm," Jason says. He breathes Bruce in, slides his tongue all along Bruce's cock and balls. "But maybe I'll read you some Shakespeare one a' these days."

If Bruce says anything, it's not English at all, because Jason does something to the head of his cock that makes Bruce grab Jason's shoulder hard enough to _bruise_.

"God," Jason says, pulling off. He looks up at Bruce and his eyes are fucked out and dark, pupils huge. "You're _big_. Knew you would be, but. Fuck, man."

"If you're not up for the challenge…" Bruce starts, and Jason flips him off before swallowing him, getting almost all the way down before Bruce feels Jason's throat around him. He feels good, warm and so _tight_ when Jason gives him some suction, really _uses_ that tongue ring of his, and Bruce hasn't written poetry in years, but when he looks down at Jason, feels the way he _moves_ , he's tempted to.

He feels like a cliche, getting head in his office from a _student_ , but when Jason takes him in all the way and _hums_ around him, he feels like some kind of god, too.

He doesn't even realize he's making noise until Jason reaches up and puts his hand over his mouth and Bruce sucks on Jason's fingers, gets them sloppy and wet and thinks about fucking him and -

When he comes, his whole body shudders, and he feels Jason swallowing around him, feels Jason's free hand squeezing his thigh. Jason's mouth is bright red when he pulls back, his hair a mess from having Bruce's hand in it.

Neither of them says anything for a minute, and then Jason stands up, pulls up his jeans and grabs his book off the desk. 

"Jason," Bruce says then. "You know this can't happen again. I'll - you can still bring me your book, but this…"

"Yeah," Jason says. He shrugs. "I figured you'd say as much." He tilts his head, says, "Kiss for the road?"

Bruce almost says no. He probably _should_ say no, but he's fuck-drunk and stupid, and he stands up and tips his head down and kisses Jason. He tastes like come and cigarettes, like cherry candy, and when he licks into Bruce's mouth, Bruce seriously considers pushing him back onto the desk.

There's a knock on the door, and they break apart.

"Professor Wayne?" says a girl's voice, and Jason snickers.

"Another one of your adoring fans."

Bruce scowls. "Of course. Time for you to go."

Jason nods, starts toward the door but then turns back and says, "Might wanna zip up those pants there, boss."

He walks out still laughing, and Bruce tries to put his life back in order. But then, he's been trying to do that for years.


End file.
